


Once Beautiful and Brave

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-15
Updated: 2008-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 06:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco gets stuck in his animagus form</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Beautiful and Brave

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [](http://slashfest.livejournal.com/profile)[**slashfest**](http://slashfest.livejournal.com/) ; prompt from [](http://jeannie81.livejournal.com/profile)[**jeannie81**](http://jeannie81.livejournal.com/).

_"...perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.”_  
-Rainer Maria Rilke

  
**:: :: ::**   


Draco thinks he might know what a portrait feels like.

His parents look at him, but they look _through_ him, as if they've been seeing him displayed on the wall in their massive entry hall for eighteen years. They don't see that his frame needs replacing; maybe he needs to be taken down and... re-touched, or something. Whatever it is they do with Wizarding portraits. He knows they love him, he knows that. His mother would not have done what she did, not taken the risk if she didn't love him.

But he wants her to see him again.

He went back to Hogwarts for one term to repeat his last year and did not go back after Christmas, even though the Headmistress wrote to his father and demanded to know why he did not return. It was the same at Hogwarts; people looked at him and saw what they always saw. Draco did not give them any reason to investigate deeper, because that would not make any sense. He curled his lip at them and they looked at him with mingled disgust, hatred... and there was always that flash of pity from Potter, surprisingly. Draco despises that most of all, even though part of him yearned towards it, like a closeted plant trying to find the sun.

The whole world looks surprisingly dark, and un- _something_ : unkempt, unhappy, unreal. He had expected rainbows to shoot over the horizon as soon as Voldemort had died, but this was not so. People move about with a sluggishness that Draco finds annoying, and yet he does it himself. He goes from hour to hour as if his world is filled with a thick tar, filling his lungs and covering his eyes with a dark, tacky film. People's faces are grim and tired, or at least they don't waste smiles on him. He hasn't done anything to deserve smiles anyway; on the contrary, he's quite reconciled with the fact that his very appearance in a public forum would give way to insults or violence or both, no matter what the Wizengamot said. His father might still be somewhat of a powerful man, but it had been what his mother had done that pulled them from the teeth of the complete destruction; maybe she had spent all her energy in that selfless act in the Forest, that she had none now to spare on more than giving him tight smiles that are exhausted, as if they had travelled a long way to end up on her lips.

He's asking too much. He always had, anyway. What does he expect after the things he has said and done? Maybe that is why he had felt a low sense of rage when Potter had given him those pitying glances.

Because he does not deserve them.

He finds himself wishing that Professor Snape was still alive; not only him, but also Professor Lupin and Headmaster Dumbledore. He always got the impression that when they had looked at him, they really saw him for who he wanted to be.

That's a bit of a laugh, though, for who does Draco Malfoy really want to be?

  
**:: :: ::**   


His father hired tutors from France and Spain.

Julian didn't have much to show him in Potions, but he _did_ teach Draco a lot in bed. Julian had a sultry habit of looking up at Draco as his talented lips slid down over Draco's cock, a smile twinkling in his eyes. Draco wasn't sure if he liked Julian's smile. It seemed sharp and mocking, a smile that Draco himself wore at some point in time. But it was still a smile, and so Draco smirked back.

Madame Landry, a young, stern woman with very small brown eyes and a slight accent that Draco couldn't place, tutored him in Advanced Transfigurations and some Defensive Magic, although she refused to spar with Draco.

"I think, if I were an Animagus, I would be a ferret," he told her one day, as he lay across his polished mahogany desk. Madame Landry gave him a quick, disapproving look from across his small sitting-room, as if he were a troublesome pet that had once been free to leave a mess and should still not be trusted. She went back to checking his essay, and Draco continued: "I've been transfigured into a ferret before, by a criminal. A terribly mad and lethal criminal, I was lucky to come out of it alive. Surely that is my Animagus form."

"Doubtful," Madame Landry sniffed. "You were simply transfigured on the whim of the witch or wizard that cast that spell on you. Very likely you reminded them of a ferret and that is what they chose to transfigure you into. It had nothing to do with any potential of your own." She stopped talking in an abrupt manner, as if she had nearly used up all her verbal quota in casual speech, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line; she did not look at him while she flipped the parchment and made more notes. After a few beats, she opened her mouth again, obviously moving onto the next lesson.

"I'll learn to be an Animagus, I want to," Draco stated before she could say anything, mainly to get her full attention; an annoyed expression crossed her face; he could see it even though she wasn't looking directly at him.

"Don't be preposterous," she snapped and made a particularly fierce mark against the parchment with her quill. "Being an Animagus takes control and _great_ dedication. You don't simply wake up and say 'I will become an Animagus today, right after tea.' It does not work like that."

"Then inform me, my illustrious tutor," Draco said blandly, sitting up and pulling up his knees to his chest, hugging them close. "How does one become an Animagus before tea?"

"By having natural talent," Madame Landry returned quite crisply and moved onto a lesson on the theory of Gas-to-Solid Transfiguration.

  
**:: :: ::**   


In _Form to Form: Finding Your Animal Mind_ by Alphonse Didier, Draco read that Madame Landry wasn't quite correct. An Animagus was not like a Metamorphagus, born with a gift. One could _become_ an Animagus, if enough effort was expended.

"I can do it," Draco said bracingly as he pored over the chapter on the _Meditative Methodical Approach_. "How hard can it be?" he mused as he dived through _Transfiguration Consideration_. "Lesser wizards have done it before, I'm _sure_ I can," he reassured himself in a low voice, barely skimming over the chapter that dealt with _The Fully Conscious Human Mind_.

He tried for two weeks straight.

He knew he could do it, he actually _knew_ this. It was exciting, he hadn't been interested in anything in a long time, but it was also very infuriating. He sat on the woven rug at the foot of his large bed and emptied his mind of nearly everything, letting the spell whisper in the corner of his brain, feeling _something_ knock tentatively at a back-door of his psyche. He missed dinner four times in the second week and a tiny house-elf, its size indicating its youth, was sent to fetch him for three of those occasions. On the last one, he was brought a tray so large that the little elf staggered, and then he was left alone.

A major problem, he decided, was his _location_. A person could not be expected to Transfigure themselves in a Manor that had such a taint on it, as if the whole place hid a rotting body among the stone masonry; it was akin to the feeling one got when touching a slimy old wall in the dark.

"Where are you going, dear," his mother murmured as he marched past her open sitting room door, his book tucked securely in his arm. She was making something, her knitting needles floating in the air; she had once told him that she had learned to knit as a young girl, but Draco wasn't quite sure what she claimed to be making now; it resembled like a large, misshapen sock.

"Outside, to the gardens," he told her and she nodded absently, frowning at the needles and twirling her wand in large circles around them. _She used to host such wonderful parties_ , Draco thought with bitterness aimed at himself and his family, as he went down the broad, curving staircase, his footsteps echoing back from the high ceiling. He made his way past the kitchens and pushed open a side-door, raising one hand to shade his eyes from the light of the afternoon sun.

Hesitating for just a moment, he skirted his mother's untended gardens and went all the way down the slope of the massive lawns, down to the small pond that lay at the bottom of the slope, where a Whispering Willow stood guard over the still water.

He didn't look in the book again, choosing to put it aside as he sat with his legs folded at the gnarled base of the tree; he didn't need to. He had been meditating and doing the breathing and _today_ would be the day. If nothing happened, he would take up knitting horrid socks with his mother.

 _Breathe in. Clear your mind. Breathe out. Listen to those unwanted thoughts, even as they leave the space in your head._

Draco felt thoughts spiralling through his mind. He saw eyes: the cold glares of the Wizengamot, the accusing stares of students he had thought he would fight against in the last battle. He saw Professor Snape's dark, scornful expression that was tinged with sorrowful understanding and regret.

He saw the Headmaster's eyes, blue and warm, even at the very end.

He felt an urge... as if he wanted to cry out in agony, to _scream_ and wail, but he pressed his lips tightly together and tried hard to funnel the unwanted thoughts out of his head.

He saw Crabbe dying and Potter's skinny hand come darting out of the flames; he saw his father's desperate eyes as the Dark Lord cast flashes of bright green at their dinner table, as casual as eating. He saw his own wand spitting out that same noxious green and _now_ he cried out, not realising he had spoken _Verto!_ in a voice that was quite unlike his own, low and rumbling and harsh.

There was a twisting, shifting feeling in his whole body and he felt his whole mind slide to one side, contorting and making room.

There was nothing but black for awhile.

  
**:: :: ::**   


Bright.

Shifting, brilliant colour, waves of iridescence.

Was the world always this lovely? Draco blinked and the colours remained.

A few moments later, he became aware of how he was positioned. It seemed as if he was stretched out on his belly beside the curiously diminished pond. The Willow was dropping whispering leaves all around him, even on his back, but he could not feel them. His tail was wrapped around the base of the tree almost idly.

...wait. His tail?

Draco raised his head and blinked, disoriented by the way his vision tried to zoom in and out too rapidly, viewing everything through those bands of colour.

He had done it. He had _done_ it, he realised with a shock, raising up even more and turning slowly, taking in the long, pale body resting under the tree. He seemed to glow in the sun like his mother's pearls; he huffed in pleasure, and then reared back as some smoke exited out of his nostrils.

How amazing: his Animagus form was a dragon. This... was fucking _brilliant_. He turned his head from side to side, feeling the movement ripple down a long neck and with less thought than a person would use to inhale, he spread out his wings.

They were large, felt so light, and he flapped them once, twice, feeling the powerful muscles on his back move commandingly. He took a deep breath, expanding his powerful chest, feeling his body prepare for action.

He crouched and then launched himself into the air.

The wards crackled over his skin as he rocketed past them, feeling his wings adjust to the movements of the wind. His wings pumped powerfully, bringing him up above the clouds in what seemed to be seconds. The day felt hot and he could feel the sun pouring over his massive body. If Blaise was still in the country, he'd fly over to his house and maybe set the rose-bushes under his window on fire.

This was fantastic!

  
**:: :: ::**   


  
This was _awful_.

Draco had been flying for awhile, dipping and curling lazily in the air, feeling his body turn and spin above the clouds with ease. He had kept a close eye out for those Muggle flying machines; he could hear them approach long before he could actually see them, and therefore managed not to collide with any. He had felt the curious sweep of their tracking devices over his body, and experienced the particular magic of dragons that repelled such things, causing him to feel quite smug.

Finally, hunger had beset him, and he felt terribly thirsty as well. He descended warily through the clouds and instead of the Manor grounds, he saw a village below him, alight with that same range of shifting colour.

It was _magic_ he was seeing, he had realised earlier. He could see the power of other wizards in shades of glorious emerald and vermillion, sweet fuchsia blushes and bold cerulean strokes, just as he had seen the wards of his own home when he had first transformed. In the air, he hadn't seen such a concentration and so this village below him must be a magical community. At least, he had hoped so.

He landed as quickly as he could in a small wood, after making sure that no people were nearby. All he had to do was change back his form and find a Floo, or some way to send a message to the Manor, for he had no idea were he was now. A Wizarding village, yes, but where?

Hmm. No matter, all he had to do was shift back... shift back to... his human form...

Nothing had happened.

He had huffed and contorted, trampling small bushes in the effort to force his body back to its original shape; it refused to budge. How utterly embarrassing. After proving Madame Landry wrong, he was now _stuck_ , and he could barely remember the way his book had suggested the return transfiguration.

Had it been the same way that he had gone from human to beast? Did he have to meditate and try and clear his mind? Not that he wanted to go through _that_ particular session again, it had left him feeling a bit... raw, emotionally. And besides, it was a bit difficult, when he was feeling so hungry now. Draco had never felt hungry in his life, it was quite an peculiar sensation. He lost a few minutes half-dreaming about something to chew on, something that would sate the rumbling that seemed to emanate from two places in his belly, where he expected to have felt only one.

A gasp sounded from his left, and Draco snapped his head around, eyes narrowing; from the volume of the gasp, he had thought that the person would be standing right beside him, but there was a girl quite a distance away, near the edge of the little wood itself. A girl who dressed in what appeared to be casual, hardy robes made for wearing about the house, a woven basket of berries slung over one arm.

Her mouth was hanging open in a most unattractive way and Draco suppressed a sneer. He had to get her assistance, it would not do to insult her.

Draco took a step close. "You! Help me, I need your help," he tried to tell her, but only a coarse growling came from his throat, accompanied by that red-tinged smoke. The girl gave a breathless scream, flung her basket at him and scurried off in the opposite direction.

"Blast!" Draco said, but not really. He had meant to _say_ blast, but a bright red stream of flame bubbled up out of his throat and into a nearby bush, setting it on fire. Clumsily, he stomped on the bush with one clawed leg, hoping that the fire wouldn't spread, but the bushes were dry and the flames began to multiply with gleeful abandon.

" _Aguamenti_!" A voice instructed and water descended over the flames. Draco blinked at his now wet leg, and then turned his head to see at a stocky man with red hair that was longer than current fashion dictated, dressed in inexpensive robes; this man was staring back at him incredulously, but with a surprising lack of fear. The girl who had ran away from Draco was standing behind this man, her hands gripping at his bicep as she peered over his shoulder.

"Laura, go on back," the red-haired man told the girl. Laura wasted no more time in speeding in the direction they had come. Draco inhaled sharply as the man came a little closer, and began to back away himself. This wizard had a wand, and he had none. He didn't know what kind of protection dragons had against the magic of a full-grown wizard.

"What are you _doing_ here?" the man asked. His voice was so soothing, even with the interrogative nature of his speech. "You're not supposed to be here, you're a long way from home!"

 _Quite right_ , Draco thought, eyeing the man warily. His features looked very familiar, but Draco couldn't place him.

"I come home for _one_ little break," the man mused, "and I find an Opaleye almost in my own backyard. I just can't seem to keep away from dragons!" To Draco's bemusement, the man laughed in delight. He was quite mad, Draco decided, to be faced with a dragon and being this pleased by it.

"You must help me, crazy man," Draco tried to tell him, but that infernal smoke poured out of his nose. He turned his face from side to side in frustration.

"Now, now, it's alright," the man said quietly. "I'll take care of you, and get you home."

Draco gave him a sharp look, but the man was smiling gently. He had a rather kind face, nearly completely covered in brown freckles. His sharp blue eyes flickered quickly over Draco's tense frame and he grinned as Draco's belly made a large, rumbling noise.

"Ahh, you're hungry. You stay right here. Don't move, I will come right back."

He stepped around in a half-circle, and Disapparated away. Draco seriously considered flying again, to see if he could find his way back home, but he was completely lost and famished. Instead, he lay down on the leafy ground, settled his head on his forelegs and fell into a fitful sleep.

  
**:: :: ::**   


"Holy _crap_!"

"Ronald Bilius _Weasley_!"

"Be quiet, Ron. Mum, _please_."

Draco stirred, and raised his head slowly, blinking blearily at the red-haired man, who had returned with company. There was a whole group of red-haired people now, all with their wands trained on him.

"Don't scare him," the first man warned, as Draco scrambled back. For Merlin's sake, they were Weasleys! How rotten could his luck get? "No, no, no," the man continued, holding his hands out, palms down. "No, we're not going to hurt you."

"Charlie, how did it get here?" A plump woman asked in a faint voice.

"I don't know, Mum." The man who had first approached him was called Charlie, then. Yes, Charlie Weasley. His name had been engraved on a few Quidditch trophies at school, especially the Seeker awards. "But he's a long way from New Zealand, I can tell you that."

Charlie levitated the carcass of a sheep towards Draco, who was feeling confused. New Zealand?

"New Zealand?" Another Weasley echoed his thoughts, one that Draco knew well. One of them that had shared a brain with Potter. Draco curled his lip at him, and the Weasel took a few steps back.

"Yes. He's an Antipodean Opaleye, and they're native to New Zealand, although some have been going over to Australia recently. Isn't he wonderful?"

"No. He looks very dangerous."

"You're a blind man, Ron. He's _very_ beautiful," Charlie insisted with a grin. Draco wondered if dragons could blush. "And he's quite used to the presence of humans as well. He didn't try to roast me the first time he saw me, so he must come from a preserve, or a private menagerie. But how did he fly all this way? And how did they let him escape?"

Draco barely heard anything, he was looking at the fresh meat that was placed in front of him. His human mind recoiled at eating anything as raw as that, but the dragon in him was very pleased to be given such a good meal. The human who had given him this was a fine being. The dragon liked this human, very much.

He bent his head slowly, watching them as he sniffed at the sheep. It smelled wonderful, and before he knew what he was doing, he was ripping into the flesh of the sheep, feeling his long teeth tear into muscle and bone. Heavenly.

"Good, that's a good boy," Charlie was saying with a tinge of pride; the rest of his family looked a little ill. "He's not quite an adult, do you see? The ridges on his back, they're not as developed as they should be. Look at his tail! And his teeth!"

"I'm looking," another sibling said. Draco recognised him as the surviving twin. "And as long as I can see that they're a good hundred feet away from me, I think they're gorgeous."

"Charlie, I'm going back to the Burrow," the Mother Weasel said. "Don't get eaten, now."

"I'm from Malfoy Manor," Draco tried to say with smoke and fire. "Just point me in the right direction, and I'll be on my way. I have a severe allergy to red hair."

"I will help you get home again," Charlie Weasley said with a lovely smile as the rest of his family trooped off. Draco felt much calmer looking right into his open face. He was sure Charlie did not know a word he was saying, yet he felt... understood. "Don't worry, my lovely. I will."

  
**:: :: ::**   


  
Charlie brought him another sheep the next day, and sat close to him as he ate. Draco had slept under the trees, and had awoken from a peaceful sleep for the first time in months. Usually, he would jump awake from nightmares, seeing red eyes gleam at him from dark corners.

Charlie sat on a stump nearby, whistling cheerfully as Draco chewed. He was whittling, his knife flashing in the sun-dappled air. Draco went down on his belly, crawling close to see.

It was a small dragon, clumsily wrought, but definable. Charlie stopped carving for a little while, turned it this way and that, and went into it again, his happy tune floating through the air. Draco was almost upon him; he thought Charlie was quite foolish to let a dragon sneak up on him like this, but he simply lay flat near Charlie and waited. Charlie turned and gave him a toothy grin.

"I _knew_ you were more tame than I gave you credit for," he said, putting the carved-dragon in his robes. "Everyone says that there aren't any domesticated dragons, but look at you, lying there. I've never seen a dragon do that. Were you in captivity, I wonder?"

 _Something like that_ , Draco thought sourly and sighed a dragon's sigh.

"Well, if you were in captivity before, which is illegal, by the way, you're free now. How wonderful it must be for you!"

Draco blinked at him. It was a thought; he had never thought of himself as free before. He was reviled, hated, a loser in a monstrous battle, caught up in a world of change, but he had never thought of himself as _free_.

"I've Owled the Te Wai Pounamu and Wirreenun reserves, and told them about your scars," Charlie continued, waving his knife at Draco's armour-plated chest for a moment before returning to his little task. "They've said that they don't have any records matching your description. So that means you must have grown in captivity."

 _But now I'm free_ , Draco dared to think.

"And now you're free," Charlie said comfortably and took out his carving to peer at it again.

  
**:: :: ::**   


_Did all dragons sleep this much?_ Draco wondered this even as he woke up again. It was near dusk and Charlie was still there, but he had that evening's _Prophet_ held up in front of his face.

"Oh, he's gone missing?" he heard Charlie mutter. "I've always wondered, if we would have given him a second chance, how he would have turned out. I've always thought we should have."

Draco looked up to see what he was reading, trying to adjust his vision to read the words up-close.

 _MALFOY HEIR KIDNAPPED?_ the headline blared and Draco reared up, ignoring the massive bowl of water and the sheep lying next to him. Charlie jumped from his perch, wand drawn, eyes steely as Draco tried to point at the newspaper with his snout. Charlie held out his wand straight in front of himself and Draco backed away, trying to show him that he wasn't going feral, but look, damn it! Look at the headlines!

"What is it," Charlie asked sharply. "What?!"

"Charles!" A tall, skinny man with long dark hair dressed in strange brown robes raced into their enclave, his wand drawn as well. He was followed by a few other strange witches and wizards. "Are you mad, man, in here with that dragon?"

Draco felt a spell from that man strike him in the flank and he curled up instinctively, so that his soft belly was protected and his hard, scaly back took the spells that these strange people were hurling at him. He could hear Charlie roaring at the newcomers.

"Will you just _stop_! Can't you see he's not attacking!" Charlie cried and thankfully, the spells ceased. Draco remained curled up tightly, trembling violently.

"How were we to know he wasn't trying to bite your head off!" The dark-haired man was yelling at Charlie. "We get an owl saying one of our Opaleyes is in jolly old Britain, we take a _million_ Portkeys to get here, and we get half-lost finding your damned house!"

"And then they send us here and we see the dragon menacing you," another one put in. Draco could almost hear Charlie grinding his teeth.

"He was _not_ menacing me. Something got him all riled, maybe it was your scent, but he wasn't even going to bite me. He was actually going away from me when you showed up. And he's not _your_ Opaleye, you said you've never had any with long scars like that across its chest."

Draco uncoiled himself a little to peer over at where they were standing, discussing him. Charlie had his hands on his hips, glaring at the other dragon-keepers, for that was what they apparently were. Charlie glanced at him, saw him peeping fretfully, and gave him a reassuring smile. It was the most beautiful smile Draco had ever seen. The colour of Charlie's magic was a bright blue, the same shade of his eyes, and it shimmered all around him, making him appear ethereal. Draco looked his fill, because this would probably be the last time he'd see someone defend him so fervently, even if they didn't know who he was.

The dark-haired wizard puffed his chest importantly.

"That may be the case, but Antipodean Opaleyes are native to our region. It is within our jurisdiction to take him back to our reserves. You know that, don't you?"

Charlie looked angry and unhappy, a sudden cold wind whipping through his red hair. "Yes, Ranger Braxley, I do, but--"

"Good. Get the Cage."

Draco froze in panic; he could hear a mechanical sound, loud and grating, this Cage apparently being dragged in to lock him up. If he tried to flee now, they would give chase. Why didn't he try to get away before?

 _Because you were comfortable with Charlie_ , a voice whispered in his head. _You didn't want to leave at all_.

The _Prophet_ that Charlie had been reading nearly rolled right by him, pushed by the cool breeze. Draco put out one foreleg and pressed a long claw into it, holding it fast. Carefully, so carefully, he raised his leg with the newspaper barely stuck to his claw and reached out to Charlie.

"Watch out!" Ranger Braxley yelled, drawing his wand. Draco bent his head down to the most submissive position he could, while still holding out his leg. There was a pause, then he heard Charlie pull the newspaper off his claw.

"There's something in this you want me to see," Charlie said, very slowly. Draco tried to nod, and felt the movement ripple down his long neck. "Is it... is it about Malfoy?"

Another nod; another long pause.

"Don't do _anything_ ," Charlie snarled at the other dragon-keepers. " _Expecto Patronum_!"

Draco raised his head and saw Charlie talking earnestly to a ghostly kestrel. His Patronus cocked its head, gave Draco a curious look and then flapped away.

"Weasley, what in the blazes--"

"Give me a moment," Charlie said darkly. "I need to make sure."

A few long, agonising minutes crawled past them and then there was a loud _crack_ ; Draco's heart sank and was buoyed at the same time, a very strange feeling to have. Harry Potter had Apparated into their forest, blinking up at Draco in wide-eyed shock before turning to Charlie.

"Once, I remember you telling me that you had done something very bad to Malfoy during a confrontation," Charlie said, even before Potter could ask him why he had received such an urgent summons. "You had cast a harmful spell on him without knowing what it was."

"Yes," Potter said, going red to the roots of his messy hair. "It was _Sectumsempra_ , a spell Professor Snape invented. I disliked the git, but I didn't want to hurt him like that. Why, what's going--"

"I don't remember you telling me if he had gotten scars?" Charlie's eyes were feverish and Draco could hardly breathe. Potter frowned a little.

"Oh, well, yes. He did. On his chest."

Charlie turned to Draco and stared.

"I should have known, actually. No dragon is this peaceable." He pointed his wand at Draco, intoning very carefully: " _Restituo_."

Oh, by Merlin's beard, thank goodness. Draco felt his form twisting and lessening, until he was kneeling on the leafy ground, head bent, his hands resting on his knees.

"Malfoy?!" He heard Potter say breathlessly.

"Damn it," Ranger Braxley griped. "And we brought the Cage all the way here."

"Malfoy." Charlie Weasley was kneeling in front of him, taking his pale soft hands into roughened palms. "Are you alright?"

Draco nodded.

"I'm fine... now that I know I'm not being shipped off to New Zealand." He looked up at Charlie, knowing that he would see disgust creeping in, expecting him to release Draco's hands and move away. Instead, Charlie's eyes were still kind, his face still open and calm. "I got stuck."

"A dragon Animagus, that's kind of brilliant," Potter was musing, sounding jealous. It was a testament to how grateful Draco was, that he didn't lord this over Potter.

"Thank you," he said to Charlie, in a low voice. "Thank you, so much. For everything. I... I do appreciate it, Weasley."

He had thought that Charlie's smiles were reserved for dragons, but Charlie gave him the same brilliant one he had given Draco's Animagus form. Draco stared up at him, not realising that he was returning the smile until Potter said, in a shaky voice, "You look weird when you smile, Malfoy. Maybe you should stop."

Draco folded his lips over his teeth, glaring at stupid Potter as he removed his hands unwillingly from Charlie's warm hands, and got to his feet. He nodded to everyone (Ranger Braxley was staring at him in a sort of offended disappointment) and trudged off to the edge of the little forest, to Apparate back home to the lifeless Manor.

He emerged into a world that looked brighter and different than before. Maybe being a lost, hungry dragon had changed his outlook. Just as he was going to step around into Apparition, a sound of footsteps thundered behind him and he turned completely to see Charlie racing up to him, red hair streaming out behind him like a pennant in the wind.

"I said I'd help you get home," Charlie said as he skidded to a stop in front of him. "And so I shall. Okay?"

Draco thought about what Charlie had said about second chances, and only hesitated for a moment before he stepped close, putting his hands almost shyly on Charlie's waist. It was strange, because no Malfoy even considered doing _shy_ , but Charlie nodded and placed his arms comfortably around Draco's neck, hauling him even closer.

"Aright," was all Draco said, daring to hope; with a smile, a step, they were gone.

  
**fin**   


**Author's Note:**

> I know that according to canon, Animagi can't turn into dragons, but that's what the request asked for! [](http://jeannie81.livejournal.com/profile)[**jeannie81**](http://jeannie81.livejournal.com/) 's full request was as follows: _Draco gets stuck in his animagus form, which is a (surprise, surprise) dragon. Charlie finds him. Draco somehow has to get it through to Charlie that he's stuck._


End file.
